


minotaurs labyrinth

by kcannibalp (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ??? maybe, Aphrodisiacs, Asphyxiation, Blind Sollux, Consent Issues, I use italics like punctuation, M/M, Passing Out, Size Difference, Sleep Walking, Sopor Slime, Stuffing, WAYYY too big of a bulge, blindess kink, but it’s not food ;), but sollux is into it, gamzee forces sollux’s seedflap open, lisp sollux, moulted gamzee, power dynamic ig? but only because sollux is blind, slurrys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kcannibalp
Summary: trolls weren’t even supposed to be able to sleepwalk, but of course shit-for-brains Sol would doze directly into Gamzee’s territory.alternately: i can’t pay you for your services.. maybe we could make a deal? ;))
Relationships: Sollux Captor/Gamzee Makara
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	minotaurs labyrinth

** Honk. **

Fuck, you hated that sound already. 

“Gamthee?”

Your hand that was braced on a nondescript wall, balled into a fist; you straightened your back. 

“Gam?”

** Honk. **

“Hello?”

Your thighs were aching mutedly from how long you’d been sitting on your knees, but you were afraid if you laid down you’d forget which direction was up. 

The sopor slime you seemed to be covered it was helping dull the pain for the most part, but you were also _really fucking tired._

You were lost, blind, exposed, sleepy, and without a connection to the internet; this was fucking tragic. 

** Honk. **

You strained your ears. You’d been hearing these honks for about 10 minutes now, trying to decide whether you want to put yourself at the bard’s mercy or brave the harsh confines of the wilderness of the meteor. 

Your feet felt numb as you pushed your body forward and, ashamedly, began to crawl, using the foot of the wall to assure you were going straight. 

** Honk, honk. **

“Gamthee, are you there?”

The frigid metal bled your warmblooded hands of heat, and the floor was dusty and ashy under you. You couldn’t smell it clearly — or anything clearly, for that matter — but you were sure you were dripping sopor all over the place. 

** Honk. **

What a fucking situation.

You’d been hanging with your dead friends, in a dream bubble. Fef was there with Nepeta and Zahhak. 

Fef said she noticed another dream bubble passing by and suggested you all go see what was happening; but you didn’t make it through. 

Your bubble teared open as you were being lead toward the new one, and you were suddenly awake. 

Fuck knows how far away you’d sleep-walked from your recuperacoon, covered in sticky sopor and blind as fuck. 

** Honk! **

And, as of current, you were at the expense of a deranged clownfaced murderer. 

The wall split off to the right under your hand, so you turned that way. The honks were getting clearer, less echo-ey, and you’d accepted thathaving to convince Gamzee to escort you back to the others was better than rotting alive, lost and cold.

_** Honk! ** _

“What th- the fuck!”

You _almost_ shit yourself, you certainly flinched like a stepped-on grub. The noise reverberated off of the steel plated walls as you cautiously stopped, sitting back onto your thighs. 

There was _no way_ he wasn’t close, that was way too loud.

As you were desperately breathing shallow, trying to calm yourself enough to listen out for the telltale flip-flop of clown shoes, _he_ came to _you_. No, literally. 

“Woah, what?”

His naturally-raspy voice sounded gritty, and dry. It sounded like he was a few feet in front of you, so you angled your head to what you hoped was his face.

“Gamthee?”

“Well, now what’s a little mustard bro doing all alone on the floor?”

Quickly weighing your chances, you bet that lying to him while he was sobering up would be a bad idea.

“I got lotht, can you help me up?”

Sitting quite uselessly, you raised your arms outwards, infront of you. 

“And where’d a motherfucker get so much good sticky from?”

“Huh?”

A palm pushed against your cheek silently and you jerked yourself back, hearing him suck something into his mouth over your shocked cry.

Oh yeah, the fucking sopor. Karkat decided that keeping his pale bro pacified was a pretty fucking big deal after his... ‘ _outburst_ ,’ so he got the human Rose to alchemise it. 

Really, it was a simple solution that ended up taking two dead trolls to figure out. 

“Oh, they alchemithed it. If you take me back to the control room there’th a whole fuckin vat full; jutht for you dude.”

“Man, you motherfuckers got this all for me?”

You were slightly less terrified when the hand smudged over your jawline this time, but only slightly.

“Yeah dude, KK didn’t let them thtop until they got it right.”

Unentertained as you sat there, allowing this clown to smear sopor across your face, you began to speak. 

“Tho,” you reached up and grabbed the stem of his wrist the next time you felt him on your cheek, “will you take me back to the control room?”

His hand didn’t falter from where it was mid-wipe across your upper cheek. Silence hung in the air and you couldn’t see him to see what he was expressing, but you let yourself cringe under him. 

Smoothly, his thumb bent and curved the rest of the way over your cheekbone and rested, claw pinpointed on the tail of your empty eye-socket, as he pulled your head forward ever so minutely. 

“Where’s the rush? I got myself a fine vat of sticky right here- even if it cooled crusty.”

His hand pulled away sharply and you let your wrist fall, and bump against his hipbone, but your mind was too clouded with whether he just tried to insinuate you were fat by calling you a vat. What an asshole.

The wet noises of a thumb being sucked into someone’s mouth didn’t muffle your words;

“What? No, I want to go back. I’m lotht.”

“Nah bro; you got me, don’t you?”

“Well, yeth, but I altho dont know where you are. Or- we are. Where are we?”

A weight and four claws, his hand clamping down onto your shoulder as he laughed. 

“We’re in the dark corridors!”

You groaned, as the dark corridors took up well over half of the meteor. 

“Where in the dark corridor’th?”

“Uhh, I don’t know motherfucker, pretty deep. There’s a generator over there.. and some pipes...”

That was all you needed to know. If you were deep enough to be near another generator, it was too deep for you to chance getting out alone. 

“Fine, whatever, I need your help either way.”

You hear him exhale, and he spoke obnoxiously cheerfully for being so far from the rest of the trolls; this was isolation. 

“Well, not ‘til after I get all up on in this soportastic slimefest.”

Expecting him, you didn’t wince when both of his hands cupped your face and turned your head diagnonally, but you did freak out and lose balance when what felt like his tongue hooked around the bottom of your ear. 

You cried out and threw yourself back, “Woah, woah, _woah_!”

One of his hands left your face and you assume it went to propping him up, because his other had darted around your head and he was now holding you up, underneath himself, squeezing you into his chest as he scraped the drying soporific off of your bared throat with his teeth. 

“Gamthee, Gamthee what the fuck-“ 

He let your hands stay at his chest as he set you down slowly, and you noticed the distinct lack of shaking- how fucking strong was he?

Thumbs scraped at your pulse points as his tongue swirled and curled on your jawline. 

You chittered into what felt like his hair, but was choked off into a strangled gasp when his hands crossed and squeezed- _hard_. 

He choked you into the floor, his full weight muffling your airway. 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck,

Panic forced you into desperately searching for your psionics, clawing at the empty sockets of your mind for so so long until he let up and you were drowning in the air, happily. 

“A motherfucker looks good like this.. covered in that good sticky, under my claws.”

“What the fuck are you doing to me, yo _u crathy fuck-_ “

His hands clenched around your throat again and you thrash, arching your back and twisting to get him off; your hands were prying into the minimal space between his palms and your windpipe.

“Pleathe, plea _hh_ -“

Wheezing uglily, you let your eyes shut as you groan. Things are dizzy and foggy but he lets you go.

“Fuck, fuck, gam fuck-“

Air floods into you again and you loosen, breathing and not doing much else, hands softening over his. Not even reacting to Gamzee’s bulge nuzzling into the crook of your knee. 

“No, you fucker, thtop-“

“Shh, shoosh brother, I ain’t gone hurt you none.”

You can’t see his facial expression but the low crooning in his throat tell you that it’s probably blissed out, letting his bulge writhe in his shitty clown pants and probably watching you struggle. 

The reassurance that he’s not trying to kill you... helps. The surges of adrenaline are helping keep you awake — and are waking you up.   
That was a bulge joke. You’re getting off on this. Because if having a fetish for duality wasn’t bonkers enough, now you were officially fucked.

He eases you into it this time, but you still aren’t fast enough to push Gamzee’s hands away before he locks onto you. 

Your pulse throbs just beneath your skin and he’s holding it in his palm and it’s so hard to concentrate. 

Like a fish, your mouth is gaping and tears are making your eyesockets itch. Gamzee croons at you and his tongue snakes into your mouth and-

You’re _kidding_ me. 

He kisses you softly, and the second his grip lets up you jerk your head to the side and inhale noisily. 

Characteristically, he takes this opportunity to suck a smear of sopor from your hairline. 

Wheeze, he squeezes, and you’re choking again. Fuck it’s getting dizzy, your sheath is burning. Hhah!

It’s probably the lack of air, looking back on it, or the ingrained ‘submit to your assailant’ instinct in Alternian society, but your genetic fluids sac contracts in a way that makes you purr.

Or, well, try to purr. Every time you breathe out your purring clatters off into a threatening click; each inhale rattling deep in your chest. He lets up again and you squirm back as much as your dazed body lets you — which is not a lot.

“Thtop,” you gasp.

“I’ll take care of you motherfucker, stop worryin’ and let yourself feel good.”

You’re about to put a mic to where you think his facepaint-smeared lips are and ask why _exactly_ he thinks asphyxiation makes you feel good instead of just needy and ready to bone, but you feel his thumbs rearrange and take aim; to prevent him squeezing again, you hitch your knee into the circus tent of his crotch and grind up — roughly.

“F-fuuhh.. motherfucker..-“

Success! He doesn’t choke you again. 

Clawed hands drop from your throat to your thigh and grip, pricking into the soft skin of your leg. It smears moisture over you in an uncomfortably sexy way; yes, you’re fucked up, we’ve established.

“Fuck,” you’re gasping as his bulge tries to fuck the space between your thigh and calf through the fabric, “are we doing thith?”

Ignoring you, he takes your leg and grinds down onto it and _fuck_ does he feel bigger. 

Stature-wise, not bulge-wise. From the way he’s curling in on himself, he must’ve moulted already because..

_Fuck_ he was _big_. 

You were doing this. 

Hurriedly, you pushed off the thin material of your boxers; it was a futile effort as he snagged the fabric with a claw and the things came off like melted butter. The biting temperatures of the dark corridors was making quick work of your lowblood heat. 

“Damn, motherfucker, it’s all honey down here huh?”

As you go to respond his bulge is on you and you whimper like a grub, writhing against him. 

“Gamthee, gamthee, fuck fuck fuck-“

The tingling mix of your genetic material sweetens your thinkpan and you actually _feel_ your nook get wetter. 

Eagerly, your two bulges hug Gamzee’s and the sensation makes you feel meek. 

His bulge feels about as long as your forearm and as thick as your thigh. 

Good fucking _gog_. 

“Damn, motherfucker.. you could all up an’ have two nooks!”

Before you register what he’s saying due to the natural aphrodisiac tinging your thoughts, he’s pinching the end of your bulges together and fu _ck it hurts so bad_.

“Ah- ahfuck fuck no, Gam—“

You dart a hand out in panic and bump into his chest, but he’s dragging your bulges out and pinching the tips together and it _hurts_ and he’s sliding in between and-

“No, thtop, here,” you skim your hand down his body and reach the root of his bulge, it curls around your fingers and he releases your bulges — thank gog. 

“What if I get my pail on and split you into two, mustard bro?”

But you’re not even listening, he’s already pushing into you and it’s, fuck.

You scrabble for him, hooking a hand around the scruff of his neck and pull yourself up with a strangled whine — he takes this as a delicious invitation to grab you and lean you both back to sit you on his lap and fuck he is still _so big_. 

He props back and you’re sitting on his lap, globes deep in you, hanging onto his shirt for dear fucking life and you’re breathing so heavily you barely notice how he has to curve his spine to be able to put his chin between your horns. 

Fuck, he is _so big_ , and he _definitely_ moulted, and his bulge was _definitely_ affected.

He’s honking as he pushes your thighs down onto him, working your in-comparison tiny body onto his wriggly like a cork on a spear. You can actually _feel_ the end-curl of his bulge holding your seedflap open, flicking inside of your sac.

Your twins are writhing like they’re dying against the fabric of Gamzee’s shirt and you’re sure you’re smearing genetic material everywhere. 

“Fuck, ah, Gamth, thlow down—“

He groans and you feel it reverberate through his throat in your forehead.

You whimper like a bitch and grab your bulges with one hand, desperate for friction.

Heat floods you, Gamzee’s thrusting up into your nook and slamming you down onto him and it’s so fucking good. 

Thinking is hard. Breathing is harder. Stopping yourself from screaming is harder even. 

So you do scream and bite yourself into what’s probably a shoulder and feel his breath growl out as he pails inside of you. 

You feel him flood you as he pails _inside_ of you. 

_ He’s pailing inside of you.  _

“Fuck, fuck,” you make a disgustingly sweet noise as you squeeze once, twice, and you lose it all over yourself.

Genetic material spills over your legs and your stomach feels swollen. 

Panting, “You didn’t uthe a bucket.”

He hums like he’s smiling and smooths his fucking paws over your sticky thighs, “nope.”

“Are you gonna get one?”

It’s eerily quiet now, his bulge is twitching in your nook. 

“Not yet, motherfucker.”

“Not-“ before you can finish he’s lifting your hips up - and he drops you down on his length fully, slamming into your globes and knocking you the fuck out. 

Goodnight.

You wake up gasping, breathless, spent. 

He’s pailing you on your back, growling, and you’re filling up despite it all. 

Your arms — which were twisted awkwardly at your sides — weakly raise to feel your stomach.

They meet flesh _much_ sooner than they should’ve. 

You groan in pain, his bulge slips out of you and you almost throw up at the feeling of your seedflap not being able to close over the gush of genetic material.

It feels like your guts are falling out, but in a soothingly weird, hot way.

It’s viscous and it’s cold, but it subsides just enough for your flap to slap shut but it’s not enough it’s not _nearly enough_. 

“Gamthee, what the fuck did you do to me?”

Cracks line your words and you end with a moan; your bulge is too sensitive to slip past your sheath and your nook is aching. 

“Aw shit, did you want me to stop bro? Fuck, I’m sorry motherfucker!”

The back of your shirt is sticky and cold when you sit up. Your hair is mussed and sweaty, you’re cool. 

“No, fuck, it’th whatever,” you groan at the jostling, “I’m tho full, you couldn’t have atleatht-“

He cuts you off with an “oh!” before putting a huge hand on your chest. 

“I can help with that. Lay back down for a motherfucking sec.”

Too dazed to argue, you do, and immediately regret it as your shirt squelches and is soaked in your own material. Fuckin’ gross.

“What are you..”

Gamzee’s hand works circles on your swollen tummy. It’s soothing, yes, but you don’t understand how-

Two large fingers scoop into your nook and you jerk _violently_ , crying out as his fingers hook onto the door of your seedflap and curl; this is fucking _vile_ and you _love it._

You make a strangled noise as the last of what was left inside leaks out, and his hand is still on your stomach. 

You bat him away and desperately take in the stale air, desperate for a fresh breath of air now that you feel deflated and empty and hungry and hollow-

His fingers slowly pull out and you sigh. 

“..Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, motherfucker!”

You sit back up again and peel off your remaining clothes. Using the dry side of your last article of clothing you wipe the filth off of your back, “hand me your shirt.”

A rustle, and there’s what feels to be a fucking _blanket_ in your arms. It’s huge!

You pull it over your head and the ingrained scent of sweat rushes over you. 

“I feel like schit,” you lisp. 

He laughs. 

“How about that tour guiding motherfucker?”

“That wh- oh. Yeah. Schure, pleathe.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was 100% an excuse to write blind sollux. no shame  
> practice kink safely!!!! don’t do things your partner hasn’t consented to beforehand OR you know are not okay with. even if they are into it, consent is a HUGE part of healthy relationships.  
> give me more moulted trolls *grabby hands* for fucks sake give me BIG TROLL  
> if enough people demand i may write a second fic like this,, but idk; quality over quantity yknow


End file.
